Labour of Love: The Christmas Caper
by newkathy97
Summary: A mix-up in a rescue, an unwelcome guest, and an important mission for our Heroes-all in the final days before Christmas. Can the angels keep order and ensure everyone still has a merry Christmas? Companion to my story "Labour of Love: An Uphill Struggle." (Now edited to fix typos)
1. Chapter 1

**Just a quick note: I meant to have this up by Christmas Eve , but forgot how far ahead Australia and the rest of the world is my from my time zone, so I apologise to anyone who gets this on Christmas.**

**Disclaimer. That's all I'm putting for that.**

**Also a huge thank-you to my sister for reading through this for me. Hopefully it makes sense and is enjoyable. Thank you for reading.**

**The chapters are short, but I'm going to be updating every hour or two. And please, if there's anything wrong with them, tell me! I love constructive criticism!  
**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**December 23, 1943, about 0300 hours **

_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…_

The words ran through Godfrey's mind as he looked out into the snow-covered forest. That song had only been released a couple Christmases ago, but in the angel's opinion it was long overdue. It had been the same song which, though wordless and tuneless at the time, had been running through his charge Rodney Crittendon's head since the man was a little boy, sitting wistfully beside a tree beautifully decorated with fairy lights and tinsel, and staring out of a large window into a shiny wet street, wishing for snow.

London, where Rodney had grown up, never got much snow. Perhaps that was why both Rodney and Godfrey loved it so much. Bavaria, on the other hand, seemed to have no shortage of the stuff, though right now neither man nor angel was in much of a position to enjoy it.

Rodney, after a failed escape attempt from Stalag 18 three days ago, was being transferred. At the moment, the truck carrying him to Stalag 10 was traveling slowly down the icy road through the Hammelburg woods.

The world around seemed asleep. The only noise was the gentle whisper of soft wind through the trees, and the truck's motor, the sound of which had been reduced to the gentle purr that only comes from vehicles in snow.

And Rodney's methodical snores as he dozed under a blanket against the front wall of the truck's rear compartment, though even their usual sonorous quality had been reduced by the atmosphere the snowfall had created.

As he gazed at his sleeping charge, Godfrey felt a wave of pity tug at his heart. Christmas of 1943 looked as if it would be Rodney's loneliest Christmas ever. He would probably spend it languishing in solitary at Stalag 10 while the commandant finished sorting out the transfer, and his Christmas mail would be even later than usual.

He was so busy contemplating these things that when the guard driving the truck suddenly braked he was taken completely by surprise. Rodney was practically thrown forwards onto the truck's wooden floor, and Godfrey only regained his wits just in time to stop his charge's head from colliding with one of the benches lining the side walls. Still, the group captain landed on the floor with quite a nasty bump, and awoke with an exclamation, rubbing the now bruised left arm on which he had landed.

"I say! What the dickens was that all about?"

That was precisely what Godfrey went to investigate.

Upon leaving the truck, he saw the driver and his aide standing by a large something blocking the road, which on closer inspection turned out to be a fallen tree. Both men were swearing loudly and violently in German, and the driver was ordering the other man to fetch the other two guards and the English prisoner from the back to help remove the obstruction. Suddenly a dark-clothed figure leaped out of the shadows on the other side of the fallen tree and clobbered both men on the head before they could utter a word.

It was at that moment that the angel realised with whom they were dealing, and a huge wave of elation and relief washed over him. He dashed back to the rear entrance of the truck, where he found two more figures trussing up the now limp forms of the two other guards. Nearby stood three angels, each of whom greeted Godfrey with a friendly grin. Godfrey beamed back.

Rodney was just as delighted as his angel when he leaped from the back of the truck, calling out happily in a voice that was so loud it made the men to whom it was addressed wince:

"Good show, chaps! What an operation!"

Upon hearing his voice, the men looked up, their faces sharing an expression of mixed dread and horror.

"Please tell me this isn't true," the shortest figure said softly.

"I'm afraid it is, Louis," a deeper voice, coming from a much taller figure, replied slowly.

"Well, mates," the third man said, his voice heavily laced with the tones of East-London. "Let me just say it's been a pleasure serving with all of you, 'cause the Colonel's going to murder us when we get back."

* * *

"**White Christmas" was played over the airwaves first on Christmas of 1941, on NBC. It was sung by Bing Crosby. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Marcus**

He had known, as the other angels had, that the truck that James, Peter, and Louis had stopped was not the right one the moment the vehicle was in sight. They had even been on the verge of stopping their charges when they had received message - orders not to involve themselves in the affair for the next few minutes. These orders had been from pretty high up, too, coming directly from the Director of German Politics, who was a Principality. And if he, who at the time had what was probably one of the most stressful angelic postings in world history, had taken the time to issue these orders, Marcus had no doubt that they were was important.

As a point of clarification, Principalities are the highest rank of angel directly and constantly involved in human affairs. They direct important things like politics and religion, though it is hardly ever possible to prevent catastrophes (for example, the Nazi Party) from entering civilisation. Such occurrences are usually part of a larger plan for humanity, but the angel in charge of that particular country's government and all those under him are run off their feet trying to make sure that the Enemy does not gain complete control of the country by preserving organisations such as the Underground and anyone connected with them is _not_ an easy task.

Anyway, orders are orders, and so Marcus and his two friends watched and waited in some apprehension. They had no idea who really _was_ in the vehicle their charges were stopping, but they were certain it was not the three Underground leaders they _thought_ they were capturing. In fact, when it turned out simply to be Rodney Crittendon and his angel Godfrey, two old friends, they were rather relieved. None of them had really been able to get the thought of a Gestapo ambush out of their heads.

Their charges, however, did not share their feelings. That was plain enough for anyone to see.

"I am sorry, old chap," Godfrey said as the four angels and their charges made their way back to camp. "This must be a rather a shock for your lads."

"Oh, James'll get over it," Marcus said, rather unsympathetically for an angel. However, he knew the truth in his own words. If spending every minute of thirty-two years guarding James Kinchloe had taught him anything, it was that the man was excellent at picking himself up as soon as possible and continuing on, while making do with whatever circumstances he found himself in. James had an intelligent, rational mind that was not easily excited to fear or panic, and he had a way of transferring his calm to everyone around him. It was this quality which had helped him face off against racial discrimination his whole life; it was the same quality which made him such a perfect second-in-command for Robert Hogan. "They all will get over it; they always do. Anyway, it will all come together in the end – after all, it is part of The Plan."

"I think it will be rather interesting," Benoit, Louis LeBeau's guardian, spoke up from behind. "Obviously your Rodney plays a part in this we don't yet know about."

"I suppose so," said Godfrey, with a sigh. He was starting to feel worried again at the thought of Rodney having to help with a clandestine operation of any kind. However, he shoved the still fresh apprehension out of his mind to ask:

"Who were they really after?"

"Three guys from the Dusseldorf Underground," Marcus explained. "They were captured at a meeting four days ago. James and the other two were supposed to stop the truck carrying them to Berlin as it passed through the forest. Instead, they stopped Rodney's transfer truck."

"I see."

"I wonder what happened to the real truck?" Christopher, the third angel, and responsible for Peter Newkirk, spoke for the first time.

"I dunno, Kit," Marcus said, using the nickname the angels had given to their friend. "I don't suppose we'll know for a while, unless Robert and Ted have been contacted with the information."

"Speaking of those two, how do you think Ted's going to deal with the fit Robert's going to have when he finds out who our boys _actually_ brought home," said Benoit with a chuckle. Godfrey blushed on behalf of his charge, though he, too, was smiling.

"I hope he doesn't kill poor old Rodney,' he said, jokingly. "Or James or Louis or Peter for that matter."

"That, my dear Godfrey," said Marcus, assuming a ridiculously solemn air. "Is a distinct possibility."

* * *

**A couple quick explanatory points:**

"**Ted" is Edward the angel's nickname. I believe Robert's middle name is, fanonically, "Edward". My own brother's name is Edward Robert, but we call him "Ted" so I did the same for the angel. Much nicer than "Ed", IMO.**

**Also I apologise that I couldn't put the "^" over the "I" in Benoit. Not the right keyboard, I'm afraid.**

**I don't know why I made Kinch thirty two. Guess it seemed appropriate.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Edward**

_They'll be alright._

_How can I be sure?_

_Trust me, I know._

_Anything could happen out there. I have no way of telling them the truck is stopping in Hammelburg for the next couple days. What happens if they get caught by the Gestapo or something?_

_Rob, please. I know they won't. Have I ever been wrong before?_

Colonel Robert Hogan stood by the radio in the massive tunnel system beneath Stalag 13, apparently lost in thought. Near beside him, invisible to all earthly things, stood his guardian angel, Edward, who was once again pretending to be his charge's "gut feeling". Variations of this conversation went on almost every time Hogan was forced, for some reason, to send his men out on a mission without him. Though this time the conversation was a little more worried on Robert's part due to the news he had just received from the Underground.

The truck he had sent his men out to stop was delayed in Hammelburg – technical trouble with the transfer truck, the Underground had said. A new truck would not be forthcoming, thanks to heavy snow around the little town, and the three prisoners, leaders of the Underground captured in Dusseldorf, would be detained in Hammelburg Gestapo headquarters for the next two days at least. The papers they had been carrying, which gave the details of every air raid on German cities for the next three months (in code, as of yet unbroken, thank heavens), were now in the hands of Major Wolfgang Hochstetter. Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau had no way of knowing this. Hogan could only hope they just came back when they saw no truck come at the appointed time.

But by now, they were already an hour late, and Robert was worried. Very worried.

"Say, Colonel," Carter said from where he sat on the cot against the opposite wall. "Do you think they're alright?" Robert sighed, looking the youngest member of his team straight in the eye.

"I honestly don't know Carter. But I have this gut feeling…"

Edward only grinned.

A few minutes later, the trap door leading from the forest to the tunnel opened and a short figure climbed down the ladder.

"LeBeau!" Carter leaped up to greet his friend, closely followed by the colonel.

"LeBeau, what took you so long? Where are the others?" Hogan demanded.

"They're waiting for a chance to get in. You know, _mon colonel_, we really should have white suits instead of black ones for operations in the snow. It would make much easier to hide from the guards."

"Okay, Louis, but you haven't answered my first question. What took so long?

"Well, we waited around but the truck didn't come."

"It was delayed in Hammelburg," Hogan explained. "Why didn't you come back when it didn't show?"

"Well...uh…" LeBeau stalled, nervously.

"Well, what?"

"Newkirk will tell you, sir," Louis said, quickly passing the bale to the man now climbing down the ladder.

"He shouldn't wriggle out of it like that," Benoit said, disapprovingly. Then turning to Edward, he said,

"Robert's in for a bit of shock, Ted. They stopped the wrong truck."

"Oh? Who was in it that I should be so worried about?"

Before Benoit had time to answer, a loud and very familiar voice echoed through the tunnel.

"Hogan, old bean! We meet again!"

Robert groaned, and, burying his face in his hands, collapsed on the cot Andrew had occupied not ten minutes ago. Edward, looking at the mixture of emotions bouncing around inside of his charge, was surprised the man did not faint or go in to some sort of epileptic fit as a result.

"I'm sorry, Edward," Godfrey said, ruefully.

"Not your fault, Godfrey," Edward said, simply.

"Yeah, our orders not to get involved came from a Principality – the Director of German Politics himself!"

"Wow, that's gotta be really important then," Alexander, Andrew Carter's personal angel, whistled softly in appreciative awe.

"Yeah, that's what we figured," Kit said.

Meanwhile, Edward had sat down by Robert, and was attempting to stir him back into the land of the living.

_Come on, old man. Think! How can you use this to your advantage?_

_No way. Not him. Not now._

_Face it, Rob, it's happening. Now, you know the situation – use it!_

Perhaps now would be a good time to point out that the relationship this angel and his charge shared was not quite ordinary. In most cases, angels only talk to their charges once in a while, to warn them of impending danger or some such thing. Edward, however, held actual mental conversations with Robert on a regular basis, though Robert didn't know it. He thought it was a part of himself talking, and, in a way, he was right.

Anyway, while this conversation went on for a few minutes, Peter, Louis, and James changed back into their uniforms and Rodney milled about the tunnel, examining the radio and waiting for Robert to speak up.

Finally, the colonel stood up, a look of resignation plastered on his face.

"Alright, men, I have a plan." At this, Edward nodded in satisfaction.

_Good man._

"Kinch," Hogan went on. "If I'm not mistaken the mayor of Hammelburg hosts a party for the more important locals on Christmas Eve every year, right?"

"That's right, Colonel, unless he's changed plans this year."

"And Major Hochstetter usually attends this party with a few of his staff, am I right?"

"Check."

"Well, according to our contact in Gestapo HQ, he's constantly carrying the papers. Paranoid." The statement met with grins from the others."That in mind, here's how the plan goes."

As he outlined the plan, Edward spoke softly to Marcus.

"Mark, will you go give Heini a heads up about the invitation? We need it possible for the boys to get it easily when they need it."

Marcus nodded and headed out of the tunnel, making for the quarters of Kommandant Wilhelm Klink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Marcus found Heinrich sitting by the bed of his charge, Wilhelm Klink, who was fast asleep. The closed eye of the "Iron Eagle" still maintained a death-grip around the monocle, and on his bald head was wrapped something reminiscent of a piece of a butterfly net. Marcus could not resist a small chuckle upon seeing it.

"He's still wearing that thing then?" Heini rolled his eyes and raised his hands to heaven in a gesture of appeal before letting them fall with a smack on his face.

"Yep. You know, Mark, he still honestly thinks it'll make his hair grow," he replied, sighing wearily. "He has to be one of the singularly most vain men in the history of humanity. Sometimes I don't even know why I bother trying."

"Cheer up, buddy," Marcus said, kindly, though he was still chuckling. "Listen, can you do me and the rest of the guys a favour?"

"Sure, what?"

"Has Wilhelm got an invitation to the mayor's Christmas do, if it's happening? "Cause the fellahs need it for something Robert's cooked up."

"I see. No, we haven't seen the invitation yet, but I'm almost positive the party's happening. If so, he probably has been invited, but Hilda hasn't shown it to him yet or it hasn't arrived." Mark nodded in understanding, and Heinrich went on.

"Tell you what – I'll head over to town tonight and talk to Karla. She'll know, and on the off chance she doesn't I can go to Rudolf. I'll make sure you guys get the invitation." Karla was Hilda's guardian angel, and Rudolf was the Archangel in charge of guarding the whole town of Hammelburg. Archangels are just below Principalities in the Chain-of –Command.

"Okay, buddy. And thanks!"

With that, Marcus left the room, and went back to the tunnel where he had left James.

/\o/\

/-\

It took Heinrich only a few minutes to get to Hammelburg, what with traveling with an angel's speed and by wing. Karla was in pretty much the same position when he found her as he had been when Marcus had found him – sitting by the bedside of her sleeping charge. He called out to her softly as he entered the room. She immediately recognised him.

"Heini, what are you doing here?" she asked in surprise.

"I've just had a news update from the guys back at the Stalag," he said, his tone brimming with urgency. "I don't have long; Wilhelm will be waking up in less than half an hour."

He went on to explain the problem to her. When he finished, she spoke up.

"The invitation came yesterday morning, and I urged Hilda to put it aside. I had a feeling Robert would need it. I'm glad she did save it. The men can have it tomorrow, but she'll probably extract the usual price from them. What about Wilhelm, though? What's he going to do for Christmas?" Karla sounded genuinely concerned.

"Oh, he'll have his mother and brother over, or something," Heinrich replied. "They never go anywhere, anyway. Frau Klink is embarrassed; she thinks other people will look down on her because her son is seemingly always out of work. Good little saboteur, that man." He added, more to himself than anything else.

"Pity Wilhelm couldn't follow in his footsteps," Karla observed. Heinrich nodded, wistfully.

"Yes. Oh well, I could be in a much worse position. I could be responsible for Himmler, or Goebbels, or Hitler, or some other equally_- unsavoury- _character. Thank God I only have to guard a vain fool. Anyway, thank you, Karla."

/\o/\

/-\

The morning of December twenty third Klink awoke in the best of spirits. He hummed little snippets of Christmas carols to himself as he got ready, and he even offered the prisoners extra rations at roll call as a pre-Christmas present.

When he phoned his parents and brother and invited them to Christmas Eve dinner, he was practically singing the words into the receiver. His beautiful three- tiered Advent wreath, hand-carved from three shades of wood, was lit almost all day. He even gave Schultz a three-day pass to go visit his family for Christmas. And despite how the guard complained about his wife's cooking, everyone in the camp – man or angel – knew he was secretly glad of the chance to visit his family over Christmas. To top it all off, he invited his senior prisoner-of-war, Colonel Robert Hogan, to dinner with the Klinks on Christmas Eve.

The odd part was that the sole source of Wilhelm's good humour was the fact that he thought he had _not_ been invited to the Hammelburg Christmas party. Hilda had given the information to Robert that morning (for the rather expensive price of a pound of coffee, two pairs of nylons, and a kiss), and had called the mayor to tell him _Herr Kommandant_ had a prior engagement and was sorry to say that he could not attend the party. Normally, Wilhelm Klink would have been rather annoyed to think he had not been invited, but considering that Major Hochstetter would be at this particular party, the man was really quite pleased at being left out.

Which, Heinrich decided, was perfectly alright with him.

/\o/\

/-\

In Hogan's quarters, the colonel was having a serious discussion with Sergeant Carter over tomorrow night's plan.

"Carter, are you sure you want to go through with this?" Hogan asked earnestly.

"You bet, boy – uh – sir," Carter exclaimed, making his usual mistake in his enthusiasm.

"I mean, you will be on your own, with just Crittendon for 'help'. That could be a really dangerous situation."

"I know, sir, but –"

"I just want to make sure you know what your getting into," Hogan went on, refusing to be cut off. "And I want you to know that I'm sorry for getting you into a mess like this."

"Colonel, you don't have to be sorry! Why, you're the best CO a man could have, and if anyone – "

"Thanks, Carter." Hogan smiled. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but he was touched by the young sergeant's display of loyalty. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay with going through with this, and that you knew that I wouldn't send you into danger like this without a warning or a good reason. In this case our reason is that it's London's orders."

"I'm with you all the way, sir!" Carter exclaimed.

"Thanks, Carter," Hogan said again. "Dismissed."

But as he watched the figure of the sergeant disappear around the door, Hogan wondered if he'd made the right decision after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**December 24****th****, 1943: 0630 hours**

"I can certainly think of better ways to spend Christmas Eve," Newkirk muttered, clearly annoyed.

"Me too," LeBeau agreed. "But, look at you - you're lucky! At least compared to me!"

"Listen, mate, I've played the bird plenty of times. I know how you feel." The Englishman's attempt at sympathy did not stop the stream of grumbling (in two languages, it may be noted) that issued forth from his friend's mouth.

Meanwhile, behind them, Christopher and Benoit were practically in hysterics, the sight of their charges so ridiculously dressed too much for them. With a change of clothes, a bit of padding, and properly applied make-up, the two young men had magically transformed into an old man of the Prussian school and his not-so-stunningly-beautiful wife. However, they pulled themselves together quickly as Robert and Edward entered the room.

"Are you two ready?" Robert asked, grinning at Peter's long grizzled moustache and Louis' mascara and lipstick.

"As we'll ever be, sir," said Newkirk, beginning to sound ill. LeBeau looked a little green as well.

"Then let's get going."

As the two men unwillingly made their way towards the ladder that led out of the tunnel and into the Hammelburg woods, Andrew, who was dressed in a neatly pressed SS uniform, began to snicker audibly as James whistled the tune to "Here Comes the Bride". Rodney, wearing ordinary civilian clothes and standing near Andrew, kept a straight face as they walked past, but even he, despite his attempts to maintain some show of decorum, gave a loud snort of merriment as soon as their backs were turned.

"Oh shut up, all of you," LeBeau snapped. Then his eyes widened and he quickly added,

"Officers excepted, of course."

"Of course," Hogan said, still sniggering.

They really did look the part, however. The disguises were excellent; anyone who was not as familiar with their faces as these men were would have been fooled. Newkirk had surpassed himself in the make-up department this time.

"You have your invitation?" Hogan asked, growing serious.

"Yes, sir." Newkirk held up the invitation, upon which the name Wilhelm Klink had been expertly blotted out and the names "Herr Josef von Koenigsloew" and "Frau Elsa von Koenigsloew" had been carefully printed in its place.

"Good. Any more questions?"

"I have one, _mon colonel_." LeBeau raised a daintily gloved hand. "Do we have to?"

The look on Hogan's face sent them straight to the ladder, through the forest, and right to the road where Olsen was waiting with the car, "borrowed" from Klink's garage. When they were gone, the colonel turned to Carter and Crittendon.

"And you two know what you're doing, right?" The question was really directed solely at the young sergeant, who nodded. Rodney, however, took it at face value and answered with excitement.

"Yes, sir!" He punctuated the statement with a flamboyant salute. Then, realising that _he_ was the superior officer in the room, and not Hogan, he attempted to mend his words."I mean, yes, we do, Hogan. No need to fear!"

Godfrey just groaned. As far as he was concerned there _was _need to fear. Why? Why was he always so eager to get himself in situations in which he presented so obviously a hazard? And moreover, why was Robert, who knew the score only to well, even letting him get involved in the first place? When he posed the question to Edward, the other angel just smiled and told him not to worry.

"Rob knows what he's doing, old man. If he thinks its okay to send Rodney with Andrew, then it's probably okay. Though to tell you the truth, he's a little worried – I think we all are - " catching sight of Godfrey's anguished expression, he rapidly changed tack. "It will be alright, Godfrey. Really. Part of the Plan, remember?"

"But why doesn't Robert go himself?"

"Klink invited him to Christmas Eve dinner. If he didn't go it would be a little suspicious."

"I see."

"Everyone will make it out of this just fine, you'll see." Edward smiled warmly, and Godfrey returned it with a grin.

It was not until Rodney and Andrew were well away, and James and Hogan left alone in the tunnel, that the angel whispered two words softly to no one at all.

"_I hope_".


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The mayor's house, where the party was taking place, was thronging with people. Music, chatter, and the clinking of glasses echoed throughout the room. Peter and Louis, or as they were temporarily known, the von Koenigsloews, slowly made their way through the room, engaging in some small talk while looking for Hochstetter among the sea of heads.

Christopher and Benoit, hovering above the crowd of angels and people, suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure near the door to the dining room. It was another guardian angel, Klaus, waving at them from where he stood next to his charge – Major Wolfgang Hochstetter. While Christopher whispered a hint in Peter's ear, Benoit hailed the other angel.

"Klaus!"

"Ben, what on earth are you and Kit and your fellows doing here?" Klaus asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"We need the papers Wolfgang's carrying. You know, the air strike information. Peter's going to slip it off him in a little while."

"Alright, but he has to be careful. Wolfgang's in a foul mood - nothing special, I know – but he's rather wary tonight. I'll try to distract him when I see Peter come by, but I don't know how much I can do."

"Just try your best, my friend – that's all the rest of us are doing," Benoit said, with a grin. With that, he returned to Louis, who was sitting by the bar on the other side of the room, being subjected to romantic advances by a very drunken _Heer_ lieutenant. Peter, it seemed, had taken Christopher's hint and gone to rob Hochstetter. Needless to say, the little Frenchman was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

"Allow me to get you a drink, _gnadige Frau,_" the man said, his words thick and slurred.

"Oh, no, please, I don't drink," Louis put on what he considered a gentle, feminine voice – in reality, a sort of hoarse squeak. The lieutenant did not seem to notice, however, because he continued his ridiculous advance.

"Please, Frau von Koenigsloew! Just one little drink – some champagne – anything! Waiter!"

"Really, sir," Louis adopted an affronted tone, waving his handbag dramatically. "If you continue I will be forced to call my husband."

Just then, Peter came back, one hand tucked beneath his coat, no doubt holding the precious documents. He called out to Louis in a crackled, frail voice, extending his hand politely.

"Elsa, darling, we really should be going now!" Louis had never felt so relieved in his whole life.

"Well, kind sir, I'm afraid I must say good night to you!" With that, he slid as daintily as possible off the bar stool and joined Peter. As they walked away, Peter snickered quietly.

"_Kind sir_?"

"Well, he was sort of nice, for a man as drunk as he was. He knew how to treat a lady."

"Oh, come off it! You were dying for me to come back, and you know it." Peter laughed quietly. Suddenly, however, a raspy voice called out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"Herr von Koenigsloew!" It was Hochstetter.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Newkirk muttered under his breath.

"What does he want?" LeBeau whispered nervously.

"I don't know. But you'd better take these, in case." The Frenchman felt a thickly stuffed envelope shoved into his hand. "Go out and meet Olsen in the car, I'll be out their as soon as I can."

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Please, Louis. Just go."

"Herr von Koenigsloew! A word, if you please!"

"Could it wait, _Herr Major_?" Peter called out, in his wavering old man voice. "My wife is feeling ill, and I would like to walk her to our car." Louis gave a high pitched sigh and drew a hand across his forehead at this statement.

"I'm afraid it can't wait, _mein Herr. _My aide will walk your wife to your car."

Throughout this whole exchange, Klaus stood behind Wolfgang, shaking his head and motioning wildly to Christopher and Benoit.

"What is it, Klaus?" Christopher asked, fearfully. "Does he know who they are?"

"No, no!"

"Thank God for that!" Benoit muttered, and he meant it.

"But he suspects that Peter pick-pocketed him! He's going to take him outside and-"

His words were cut off as LeBeau was led away, helplessly, by the major's aide, and Hochstetter motioned to the door across the room that led to the courtyard.

"Please accompany me to the courtyard, if you would, _mein Herr_."

This whole burst of politeness was so unusual for the normally blustery Gestapo major that it gave Peter goosebumps, and it was with decided apprehension that he followed Hochstetter into the courtyard.

And not without reason, for no sooner were they in the courtyard than Hochstetter wheeled around and pointed a the business end of a Luger directly at his forehead.

"Alright, spy. Hand over the papers."

/\o/\

/-\

While all these things were going on, Andrew and Rodney, along with Alexander and Godfrey, were attempting to rescue the three Underground leaders from Gestapo HQ. Andrew was extremely nervous about the thought of entering the building alone, and even more worried by the thought that his only company was Rodney Crittendon. His concerns were shared by the two angels. Rodney, however, was in excellent spirits, brimming with confidence. And the rest of them, even Andrew, knew that to be a bad sign.

Never the less, the young man straightened his tie, pulled himself together, and marched in, pretending to hold a Rodney, whose hand were bound behind his back, at gunpoint. Clearing his throat, he proceeded towards the front desk with an air of pompous self-assurance.

"Excuse me, sergeant," he said, "But I require the use of a cell to interrogate this spy I have captured. Here are my orders, signed by Major Hochtetter himself." He presented the man at the desk with the orders, with one of Newkirk's most carefully forged signatures on the bottom.

"But how?" the sergeant asked, a little confused. "The Major has been at the mayor's party all night -"

"Idiot!" screamed Carter, leaning forward on the desk. He was starting to grow nervous at the sergeant's words, and decided to employ an old tactic. It appeared to work well, for the man cowered in fear, and even Rodney, who knew he was acting, jumped in surprise. Even Godfrey was shocked by his sudden outburst. The only being in the room unaffected was Alexander; he had seen to many acts like this to be surprised by their force. "Do you think the ever-turning wheel that is the Gestapo stops for something as trivial as a party?" At this point he dissolved into a stream of insults, until the desk-sergeant, almost in tears, agreed to give him a cell.

"We only have one left, sir," he explained as they walked through the narrow stone corridors. He motioned to a cell marked "10". Number 11 was the cell holding the three Underground leaders, and Alexander whispered a quick reminder to that effect in Andrew's ear.

"Thank you, sergeant," Andrew said, graciously. Then, quite suddenly, he pulled the Luger out of his belt and poked its barrel into the sergeant's middle area. "Now, Colonel!"

With a loud "Ha!" Rodney pulled his hands out of their bonds and plucked the gun from the sergeant's belt. Unfortunately, his grip on the handle slipped, and the weapon fell to the floor. As soon as it made contact with the hard concrete, it fired directly into the unlucky desk-sergeant's lower leg. The man fell to the floor with a howl of pain and anger.

Godfrey could have screamed in frustration in the minute. He didn't make any sound, however, but buried his face in his hand in a gesture of utter despair. When he looked up, it was at the guardian angel of the man who lay, cursing and bleeding on the floor.

"Sorry," he whispered, hollowly. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"S'alright," the other angel said, with a sigh. "It happened, and I didn't even see it coming."

"None of us did," put in Alexander. "But we've got other things to worry about. The whole building must have heard that."

Sure enough, feet could be heard pounding overhead, along with quite a bit of shouting and general commotion. Andrew instinctively reached for the smoke bombs hidden in his jacket. Lighting one, he threw it down the hall, and within seconds the whole place was filled with white smoke. Andrew ran to the guard, ripping the keys from his belt, searching madly for the fit to cell number 11. Finally he found it, and pushing the door open, shouted for its occupants to follow him.

The minutes that followed were some of the most terrifying any of the rescuers, escapees, or their angels had ever experienced. Somehow or other, all five men made it out of the building unhurt, just as Olsen was pulling up in the stolen staff car.

Ripping open the door, the five threw themselves into the back seat. For a few seconds all they could do was lay there in a heap, heaving and panting, as Olsen drove madly away from the building and down the street.

Suddenly Carter leaned forward, addressing LeBeau and Olsen in the front seats.

"Guys, Where's Newkirk?"


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is quite a bit It's A Wonderful Life/A Christmas carol!  
**

**Chapter Seven**

"I swear, sir, I don't have those papers!" Peter pleaded, still in his elderly gentleman voice.

"He's telling the truth, _Herr Major_," said the corporal standing beside Hochstetter. "He came clean in the search."

Meanwhile, Christopher and Klaus were madly considering their options. They knew they had to prevent this from happening, but the question was: how? Time was running short; any second could be the one in which Wolfgang decided to pull the trigger and end Peter's life.

Looking over the wall in desperation, Klaus spied a little boy standing in the street, catching snowflakes on his tongue (it was snowing again). All of a sudden, an unbidden memory burst into the angel's mind, and with it came a plan. It was so wild and large-scale a plan that for a moment he wondered if it was actually possible. Then he remembered Who he worked for and all doubts fled from his mind. But he would need special permission to do something of this scale.

"Kit!" The other angel looked up.

"What is it? Have you thought of something?"

"Yes, but I need you to do something before we begin." He quickly outlined his plan. "I need you to go Upstairs and ask for permission from the Miracle Department – Memory Section. I'll try and stall him meanwhile."

Christopher nodded and quickly dashed off to do as he was told. In a matter of moments he had returned – the urgency of his plight had been recognised Upstairs.

As soon as he was sure that he had the necessary permission, Klaus left the party in the courtyard and dashed into the street. The little boy was still there, thank heavens, and after exchanging a few words with the lad's angel, hurried back to Wolfgang.

In a few moments, the boy began to sing. He had a beautiful voice, such as one can only find in a small boy, and it echoed, clear as a bell, off the stone walls of the houses lining the street.

_Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,_

_Alles schlaeft; einsam wacht_

Wolfgang stopped, and listened, lowering his gun ever so slightly. Peter, too listened, though he kept his eyes firmly fixed of the Luger, wondering what was to happen next.

_Nur das traute hochheilige Paar._

_Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,_

Something in the back of the major's long-neglected soul, a memory lost for so many years, began to waken at the sound, clutching, seeking a handhold in the present time.

_Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!_

As the clear little voice soared to the high notes of the song, the memory lit up, and as Wolfgang's soul reached out and tried to grasp its meaning, Klaus took hold of it and began to transport it, back, and back…

/\o/\

/-\

Until the formidable middle-aged major was a small boy of eight once more, standing, shivering from the cold in a snow covered street.

His jacket was threadbare, and the soles of his shoes were thin. There was a tear in the left knee of his trousers, and the skin beneath had been rubbed raw and was bleeding from recent contact with the cobblestone of the road.

And he was crying big, fat, salty tears into his stinging palms.

Wiping his eyes, young Wolfgang wrapped his tattered coat around him and moved slowly down the street. All around him, he could see yellow light pouring from windows; he could hear the sound of far off Christmas carols. He alone, in the whole city, had no one – no one except a drunken father who didn't want anything to do with him.

He was very hungry. Perhaps, if he sang at one of the houses, the people who lived there would give him something to eat. So he tried. He walked up to each door in turn and began to sing. But nobody heard. They were all too busy enjoying themselves, or at church or something. Nobody noticed one little poor boy standing alone in the street.

Wolfgang was about to give up hope, when he saw a large house standing at the end of the street. _One more time,_ he thought to himself, _and if nobody answers I guess I'll just try and go home._ Making his way to the front door, he took a deep breath and began to sing _Stille Nacht_ in his best singing voice. He wasn't very good, and he knew it, but he gave it his best effort. He was about half way through when the doors opened, and the tall, slender figure of an old woman emerged. Wolfgang smiled as the heat from the house washed over him, just as the lady shivered as the cold from outside bit into her. She leaned down towards him,

"Young man, are you hungry?"

Wolfgang took an immediate liking to her. She certainly had her priorities straight! No name asking or inquiring after parents, but the immediate addressing of the issue of food. He nodded.

"Yes, _gnadige Frau_."

"The come on in and have something to eat. It's freezing out here." Wolfgang grinned appreciatively and hopped quickly through the door. She closed it behind him and looked down.

"Now, what is your name?"

"Wolfgang Hochstetter, _gnadige Frau." _

"You may call me Anna, Wolfgang. Do you have a family you are supposed to be with tonight?"

"No – Anna." He stumbled over her name, still unsure, despite the old lady's words, whether or not he should use it. "Mutti is dead and Vati does not want me around. He says I'm useless."

"Oh, how could he say a thing like that!" Anna tutted, angrily, as she hung up the boy's coat.

"He doesn't like me very much," he said, much to casually. "Anyway, may I please have something to eat?" Anna laughed – a beautiful, tinkly laugh, Wolfgang thought.

"Alright, hungry man, come this way!" Taking him by the shoulders, she steered him towards the fire. Nearby, on a small wooden table, stood plates of all sorts of food. Wolfgang's eyes lit up at the sight, and as soon as Anna had uttered the words he fell to with a will.

He had been eating in silent contentment for quite some time, when suddenly Anna, in a chair nearby, spoke to him.

"Wolfgang, you have no one to spend Christmas with, and I am a lonely old lady who also has no one. Would you like to celebrate Christmas with me?"

Wolfgang stopped, mouth full, seemingly pondering the question. When he answered, it was with an air of decision.

"Yes, Frau Anna. I would like very much to spend Christmas with you."

And they did. Together, the old woman and the little boy sang carols, and she told him long and adventurous tales of make believe. Wolfgang even consented to climb into her lap as the night grew later, and eventually he fell asleep, wrapped in a blanket and snoring small, boyish snores.

Suddenly, however, he was awakened by the sound of a man shouting outside and pounding on the door. It was his father. Anna laid him down gently by the embers of the dying fire, and went to answer the door.

Wolfgang listened with fear to their words.

"Where's my son! The neighbours say they saw him come in here." His father was still drunk, by the sound of it.

"I have no idea where your son is. The neighbours must have made a mistake." Anna spoke calmly, but with obvious authority.

"You have no right to keep my son away from me! If I find you have him in here-"

"Please, sir. I have already told you your son is not here. If you do not take my word for it and leave I will be forced to call the police."

That seemed to scare the man away for the door soon shut and Wolfgang heard his father's drunken muttering grow fainter.

As Anna came back into the room, the boy looked up at her curiously.

"Why did you do that? Tell my father a lie, I mean."

"Come here, Wolfgang." He shuffled closer, still wrapped in his blanket. "Listen to this very carefully. Sometimes, we have to forget what seems to be our duty and do what is actually right. Do you understand that? In this case my duty would seem to be telling your father the truth, would it not? Not that lying is a good thing, but I would rather lie to your father than watch him carry you away in the state he's in right now."

"I think I understand, Frau Anna," he said, softly.

"Good boy. Now go back to sleep."

/\o/\

/-\

Wolfgang shook himself back into reality just as the last line of the song was coming to an end.

_Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!_

Anna's words of so long ago were still echoing in his mind as he looked down at the old man cowering in front of him, and a new thought awoke in his mind. What if the man was innocent? What if he was wrong and he ended up shooting an innocent man? Suddenly his mind was made up. Lifting his weapon he motioned to the corporal.

"Let him go."

"But, _Herr Major-_"

"You heard what I said, let him go!"

Peter's eyes grew wide at his words. The Englishman half suspected some sort of trap, and prepared to run if need be. But the need never came. He walked away from the party alive and well, through the town, and to the edge of the forest, where Olsen, LeBeau, and the rest of the crew were waiting in the car.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the delay, Christmas festivities got in the way.  
**

**Epilogue**

Chapter Eight

"And then some kid in the street started singing, and all of a sudden he went all funny for a couple seconds, then he takes away the gun and tells me to leave!" Newkirk said breathlessly as the car drove off into the forest.

"Weren't you worried Hochstetter would try something?" LeBeau asked curiously. He was seated on Newkirk's lap due to limited space.

"Of course! But I wasn't going to just sit there was I?"

As he told the story, the angels listened. When he had finished, Alexander looked at Christopher and asked, curiously,

"What really happened?" The other angel laughed.

"To tell you the truth, I still don't really know. Klaus did some sort of miracle, but I couldn't see what it was. Suffice to say it pretty amazing, though. I've never seen a bigger change come over a man-"

He was interrupted by Olsen, who had just looked at his watch.

"Hey, guys. It's 12:30"

"Happy Christmas, chaps."

/\o/\

/-\

All present for the party in the tunnels the following night said it was the best they attended that war.

After roll call, Hogan and the entire barracks headed down into the tunnel. A couple long tables had been set up by Crittendon and the man from the Underground, and despite rationing and the rest of the food issues that surrounded the camp LeBeau prepared a truly wonderful meal - so wonderful, in fact, that not even Newkirk could find a thing to complain about.

Everyone was fascinated by Hochstetter's seemingly sudden change of heart, and the Englishman had related the story four or five times by the end of the feast. Only the angels, who knew the truth of the matter, nodded and winked at each other as the tale was told.

Carter gave a highly dramatised account of the adventure he and Crittendon had shared, much to the enjoyment of the room. All annoyance the young sergeant had felt at the Group Captain for his slip up with the gun had faded in the spirit of the party, and he even congratulated him for his part in the affair.

Then Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter sang a medley, and were unexpectedly joined by Crittendon. The Group Captain had a surprisingly nice vocal quality, which ceased to be so surprising when he told of his days as a choirboy.

Then the English officer was given a wonderful surprise towards the end of the night when Hogan announced that he had arranged for Crittendon's return to England. Godfrey the angel can be noted for taking this moment to announce to the others that "he was incredibly glad and hoped that they pinned Rodney down to a nice desk for the rest of the war." The rest of the angels heartily agreed.

When the party was over, everyone turned in, happy and content.

/\o/\

/-\

The next morning, Schultz came back into camp in time to wake up the prisoners for morning roll call. Edward met him and his angel at the front gate.

"Well, Ernst," he asked. "How was it?"

"Marvellous. I think it was a real treat for him, seeing his children over Christmas."

"Yeah, I bet it would be. Say, I think I should warn you, the fellahs have kinda had a couple late nights recently, and-"

But it was too late. The unfortunate guard had already entered the barracks with his familiar cry.

"Roll call, every one up for-"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence, for out of nowhere came flying a horde of balled-up blankets, filthy laundry, and other such odds and ends which the exhausted prisoners found within their reach. This barrage was accompanied by a chorus of groaning and swearing.

"Poor old Hans," said Edward, sympathetically, as he and Ernst entered the room.

"Not really," said Ernst. "I've discovered that the only way to stay sane as an angel is to put things in perspective." Edward nodded agreement. "There's probably somebody worse off than yourself. And in my case, that somebody is Heinrich."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"Wilhelm's mother gave him a new violin for Christmas."

**A/N: I hope it was worth the read, and A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!**


End file.
